


scheherazade

by eidolonn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, They/Them Pronouns For Castiel (Supernatural), cas centric, cas's history, inspired by 15x17, post 15x09, pre 15x14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:34:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27291259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eidolonn/pseuds/eidolonn
Summary: “What was it like?” Dean asks passively, green eyes dark and heavy-lidded in the low light. “Before–,” Dean gestures vaguely, “before all of this, I mean.” His lips hover, parted, near the cold glass mouth of his open beer bottle. Castiel can’t decipher his expression–there’s something secret held in his gaze. “Can you tell me?” Dean prompts when he doesn’t receive an answer. Castiel purses their lips, perplexed and treading lightly.“You mean before…”“Before the apocalypse–well, the first one. Before hell.” Dean studies them intently. “Before all of that. Everything. What was it like?”Castiel’s answering smile is small but earnest. It’s funny, they think to themself, how nonchalantly Dean said it. Before everything. Because he’s right, of course he is. In truth, Castiel defines their life in two eras.Before Dean and After Dean.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49





	scheherazade

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd, any mistakes are my own.

“What was it like?” Dean asks passively, green eyes dark and heavy-lidded in the low light. “Before–,” Dean gestures vaguely, “before all of this, I mean.” His lips hover, parted, near the cold glass mouth of his open beer bottle. Castiel can’t decipher his expression–there’s something secret held in his gaze. “Can you tell me?” Dean prompts when he doesn’t receive an answer. Castiel purses their lips, perplexed and treading lightly.

“You mean before…”

“Before the apocalypse–well, the first one. Before hell.” Dean studies them intently. “Before all of that. Everything. What was it like?”

Castiel’s answering smile is small but earnest. It’s funny, they think to themself, how nonchalantly Dean said it. _Before everything_. Because he’s right, of course he is. In truth, Castiel defines their life in two eras.

Before Dean and After Dean.

Slowly, Castiel nods, and they start, if not at the beginning, then very near to it. 

The first thing Castiel remembers is the stars, how they perforated the big black nothing that the universe must once have been. They recount how brightly they shined, but how, even in their multitudes, those stars seemed terribly, hopelessly alone. Castiel doesn’t tell Dean that they felt the same way back then and for millennia later. Nor do they tell him how, right now and always, his features awash in the warm glow of incandescent light, Dean’s a prettier sight than the view from Jupiter.

Next came the earth in it’s growing days, lush and brimming with crawling, creeping, swimming things, and everything felt just a little less lonely. It’s Castiel’s secret that they see echoes of the first springtime in the green of Dean’s eyes.

And then there was Man, and though they dare not say it aloud even now, Castiel felt it then for the very first time. It’s still there now, somewhere inside the hollow cage of their ribs, burrowed deep into the substance of their very being—a crack, or perhaps a chasm. A gnawing, screaming, aching thing made of isolation and heartache and wonder and love, and it threatened to consume everything in its path–

So Castiel tamped it down and tried to ignore it. They would not be pulled from their flock, nor abandon their brothers in arms. The canary in the coal mine of their heart would still sing, however unhappily, for what Castiel then believed would be the rest of their days.

Castiel skips that part, of course. Dean doesn’t need to hear it.

Instead, they move on to the ancient kings, how they rose and fell from glory in what seemed to be the blink of an eye. To the battles of old gods and the heroes of legend, and Castiel again won’t say it, but if they didn’t know better, they would say Dean was one of them. Orpheus unsung, or Achilles reborn–although, in this life, it seems, Castiel was the one who was destined to fall. 

They go on like this into the night, recalling the passing of plagues and wars, of disasters and discoveries, skipping over the curious gaps left in the wake of Castiel’s stolen memories. And omitting, of course, the abundant romantic allegories dreamt up by the heartsick creature that Castiel has become. As Cas recounts them, the centuries pass in rather quick succession because, if they’re honest with themself, none of it matters. The wild, inconsolable thing inside them still cried out, but it was smothered each and every time. The canary sang on, shrill and wailing, but ever-present. 

Castiel stops their story abruptly. Dean watches them curiously.

“Is that it?” 

Castiel squints at him in question, and his responding laugh is barely more than a huff, but the bright sound of it rings like a bell in Cas’s ears. Dean clears his throat and pushes aside his long empty beer bottle, leaning forward to rest his crossed arms on the table. He peers at Castiel earnestly, and it may be the alcohol or a trick of the light, but Castiel swears his freckled cheeks turn slightly rosy. 

“No, not like that, I just mean–you’ve lived this life that… I can barely comprehend, you know. You saw the _universe_ being created, but you seem. Almost detached from it? And I don’t get that. There has to be more to it all, right?”

Castiel finds themself at a loss for words at that because, while they are in awe of creation, and always have been, there is no good way to say it. That nothing, none of it, compares to Dean Winchester. That’s an admission that Castiel is not near ready to make, so instead, they settle for a shrug and a simple:

“Nothing worth mentioning.” They smile at Dean in good humor, and, bemused, Dean smiles back, shaking his head.

“It’s late,” Cas prompts quietly after a drawn-out silence. “You should sleep.” Dean opens his mouth to speak but quickly thinks better of it, instead fixing his friend with an unreadable expression. He stands to leave, heading in the direction of his bedroom, but as he passes Castiel, he pauses.

“I still don’t get it, man.” Dean turns, looking down at Cas where they still sit. “After everything you’ve experienced, everything you’ve seen… how can you stand it here? Doesn’t this all just feel so small to you?”

After all they have been through, Castiel can read Dean quite well now, and what they see is startlingly close to dread. It’s as if the real question he’s asking is something else altogether, as if Dean’s worried, as he often is, that he isn’t enough, and Castiel’s heart aches to quell his fear.

“I’m not alone anymore, Dean,” Castiel reassures him. “I have a family. I have Jack. Sam. I have _you_. I’d give up millennia alone in a heartbeat if it meant I could keep this.”

The words are out of their mouth unthinkingly, and Castiel hopes desperately that Dean doesn’t see this as the admission it is. That they may well have said everything they’ve kept bottled up for decades. Dean’s brow pinches, and he struggles with a reply before Castiel shakes their head, dispelling the tangible tension between them. Cas smiles kindly, but it doesn’t reach their eyes.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

And just like that, it’s over. As if nothing had happened at all, Dean parts with a pat on Cas’s shoulder and hurries, as cooly as he can out of sight. Castiel sighs and is left with their thoughts, thoughts that took years to reconcile even alone. 

Where the comings and goings of history made barely a mark, Dean has left no part of Castiel unaffected. The chink in their armor had always been there, but, without even knowing it, Dean took that breach left in his wake a fissure, one that consumed all logic and reason, all caution, everything Castiel has ever known, thrown to the wind. 

In the recesses of their chest, there is no longer birdsong, and Castiel revels in the silence.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! comments and kudos are always appreciated <3
> 
> you can find me here:  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/castlell)  
> [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/GAYCASTIEL)


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